


Christmas Elves

by Rowyna



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Christmas, Dalish Elves, Elves, Feels, Gen, Hallmark-Channel sap, Holidays, Humor, Sappy, Solas Being Solas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 04:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12787461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowyna/pseuds/Rowyna
Summary: Feyndir and Atharil go for a ride on Christmas Eve.This is a stand-alone story, but it's probably more entertaining if you know the characters.It takes place during "Atharil's Hunt", and there are spoilers.  However, this tale also exists in its own special little AU.  Consider it the fanfic version of a "holiday special".(Basically, the idea that a pair of Very Serious Dalish might team up with Santa made me laugh, and then this happened)





	Christmas Elves

 Feyndir looked up from the campfire, where he'd been turning a pair of nugs on a spit.  "Did you hear that?"

 "Bells?  That can't be right."  Atharil frowned, turning toward the forest.  Here and there, late-afternoon sunlight broke through the leafy canopy, but otherwise the woods were deep and, usually, quiet.  "By the Creators, who would be foolish enough to jingle bells in the middle of the Emerald Graves?"

 His clansman stood, already shouldering his quiver.  "Shall we find out?"

 

 The elves moved through the treetops with a practiced grace, careful to make no sound that would betray their approach.  The tinkling grew louder as they neared a small elven ruin, most of the building reduced to rubble by the passage of time.  This was no structure from the time of the Emerald Knights, they quickly realized, but something much older.  A tiny, vine-covered piece of lost Elvhenan.

 "Why have I never noticed this before?" Atharil whispered in Feyndir's long ear.

 The scout shrugged.  "Protective magic, perhaps.  Some kind of ancient ward."  He pointed.  "Look there."

 A large, elderly shemlen strolled through the site, studying what remained of the mosaic floor and stroking his snowy beard.  Behind him, on the edge of the clearing, stood a sleigh.

 Atharil shook his head.  "How did he get a sleigh all the way out here?  There's not even snow on the ground."

 "That's likely why it takes nine deer to pull it."  Below, one of the animals tossed its head, and the harness bells they'd heard earlier jangled merrily.

 "The one in the lead seems sickly.  Something's wrong with its nose."

 Feyndir pointed again, shifting on the branch.  "Look at the size of that bag in the back.  "Supplies for the Freemen, maybe?"

 Atharil considered.  "Or the Red Templars."

 The scout turned slowly to look at him.  "Just because he's dressed in red?  Are you serious?"

 "Well, he doesn't look like a normal human, does he?  There's an unnatural... happiness about him."  Atharil scowled, reaching back to pull an arrow from his quiver.  He nocked it and drew in one smooth motion.  "We'll soon find out who's right."

 Feyndir raised a hand, hesitant, then sighed.  "Very well.  He is a bit too near the encampment for my liking, and Clan Lutharra can probably use whatever he's carrying."

 Atharil narrowed his eyes, focusing in on his target.  "This reluctance is because of Ryneth."

 "It is not."  His brow furrowed, muddling the lines of his vallaslin.  "My wife is Dalish."

 "She is, indeed," the hunter returned.  "So stop fretting every time I drop a shem." 

 Atharil loosed the arrow.  It flew true, piercing the strange man's chest as he stood with his white-gloved hands on his ample hips, surveying his surroundings.  The man looked down at it, surprised but unconcerned.  Then he followed its trajectory backwards, his bright blue eyes scouring the canopy until he spotted the pair of Dalish archers above him.

 "Ho ho!" he called to them, waving.  "You're just who I was looking for!"

 Feyndir looked at Atharil, his large eyes wide with shock.  "Fenedhis," he breathed.  "The shemlen is a mage."

  
******

 Their first instinct was to flee, but they were both too awed to move.  The man in the red suit, meanwhile, rubbed the side of his nose and winked at them.  Atharil's arrow dissolved into a thousand flakes of snow.  The man brushed them off his wide chest.

 "No harm done," he assured them, smiling.  "Now, won't you come down and speak with me?  I've come a long way to find you."

 Feyndir gripped Atharil's arm.  "We can't.  He'll kill us."

 "I suspect he could manage it from there, if he wanted."  The pale elf tucked a thin braid of white-blond hair behind one pointed ear, his hand shaking slightly.  "I think we'd better talk to him."

  
 "My name is Nicholas," the man said as they approached, dropping silently from the lowest branch of the tree.  He looked them over, a cheerful twinkle in his eyes, his gaze finally settling on their bare feet.  "Not the shoe-making variety, I see."

 "What?"  Feyndir couldn't fathom the man's good humor.  They'd just tried to kill him, but he behaved as if nothing had happened.  The attitude of a powerful mage, clearly.

 "Some elves enjoy making shoes."  He spoke simply, as if they were children, but there was kindness in his tone.  "They're quite good at it, too.  And quick."

 Atharil glanced at Feyndir.  "We are not those elves."

 Nicholas laughed, his sizable stomach quaking with the force of it.  "No, I'd say you are not!"  He clapped his hands together.  "Say, you wouldn't happen to be bakers, would you?  I could really go for a couple of nice chocolate chip cookies...."

 "No."  Feyndir could hear the irritation in Atharil's voice.  "We don't make shoes, and we don't bake cookies.  We're Dalish."

 Nicholas looked at him blankly. 

 "Keepers of the lost lore?  Aravels and halla?  Vallaslin?"  He pointed at the bow-and-arrow markings on his face, frustrated.  "Oh, for...Mythal's mercy!"

 Feyndir laid a steadying hand on his friend's arm.  "You did say you came a long way to find us, Nicholas.  Where exactly are you from?"

 The older man smiled again, a spark returning to his eyes.  "A land far beyond Thedas.  And I need your help - both of you."  He turned to Atharil.  "Ma halani, da'len."

  
******

  
 "Hold on."  Atharil folded his arms across his chest.  "You know nothing about the Dalish, yet you speak elven?"

 Nicholas chuckled.  "I speak all the languages.  It's just part of being me."  He turned away before Atharil could respond.  "That reminds me," he said, walking over to the sleigh and rummaging through his enormous bag, "I have something here for each of you."

 Feyndir followed, curious about the contents of the huge sack despite himself.  Nicholas pulled a paper-covered box from its depths and handed it to him.  "Merry..errr, here you go!"

 The scout accepted the gift warily, turning it over in his hands.  There were pine trees printed on the paper, and each one was covered in little colored balls, with a golden star at the top.

 "Ma serannas," he said slowly.  "It's lovely."

 Nicholas laughed.  "That's the wrappings, my boy.  Take it home, and let your wife open it."  He winked.  "Something for the baby, when it comes."

 Feyndir's jaw dropped.  "How did you-"

 But Nicholas was already digging through his bag again.  "I know you don't care for human trappings, Atharil," he said, his voice muffled as his entire upper body disappeared into the sack, "so yours isn't wrapped.  I hope that's alright."  He emerged with a small wooden figure, which he pressed into the hunter's hand.  "I'm sure you'll take better care of it this time."

 Atharil stared at the figure, a tiny Emerald Knight carved from ironbark.  "This is impossible," he whispered.

 Nicholas patted the elf's narrow shoulder.  "Your world is full of magic," he said.  "You yourself are an elf, for goodness sake.  Is it really so difficult to believe?"

 Atharil closed his hand around the toy soldier.  "My father left this for me the night I was conceived," he said.  "It's all I ever had from him.  When I was a boy, I used to carry it everywhere, until I lost it in the Brecilian Forest."  He paused, blushing as he drew a sleeve across his eyes.  "Ma serannas, hahren.  I can never repay you."

 Nicholas chuckled softly.  "I would never ask you to, Atharil.  But perhaps you'd be willing to help me deliver the rest of the gifts in my bag?  It'll only take one night, I promise."

  
******

  
 "Is this a joke?" Feyndir asked.

 "Why, exactly, could we not wear our own clothes?"  Atharil scowled down at the pointed shoes, striped stockings, and short, velvety red tunic that had suddenly replaced his practical Dalish armor.  The bells that hung from both elves' collars jingled with every slight movement, as did the single, larger bell at the tip of their curved hats.  "We look like a pair of deranged Orlesian jesters."

 Nicholas laughed, his belly rippling.  "Nonsense!  You look wonderful - like jolly Christmas elves!  Apart from the tattoos, of course.  Those aren't very merry at all, and they might frighten the little ones."  He considered a moment.  "Don't worry; an old friend showed me a trick."  He laid a finger aside his nose, and both elves felt the lines of their vallaslin tingle.

 "What are you doing?"  Atharil touched his face, horrified.  He looked at Feyndir, watching as the branching lines on his friend's forehead and cheeks began to glow, then fade.  "Stop!"

 The tingling ceased at once, and the blood markings returned.  "Are you sure?  I thought you might be glad to be rid of them, all things considered."

 "They are what make us Dalish!"  Feyndir was appalled.  "Well... partly, anyway.  We wear them to honor our Creators, as did the ancient elvhen."

 Nicholas looked troubled.  "I apologize, then.  I was told something different."  He shook his head.  "No matter, you're fine as you are.  I imagine my own elves will be scandalized when they discover their stand-ins had tattooed faces, however."  His eyes sparkled at the thought.  "I'd better make sure they've all got good, strong mugs of hot cocoa in their hands before I tell them."

 "Your own elves?" Feyndir repeated, narrowing his eyes.  "You keep slaves?"

 "Goodness, no!"  The old man seemed genuinely appalled.  "They work for me, building toys for the children."  He gestured toward his laden pack.  "And they enjoy their job, trust me.  All day long, they're full of laughter and song and-"

 Atharil held up a hand.  "I am not singing for you."

 Feyndir considered.  "I know 'Once We Were', but I've been told my voice is not the best."

 "It's alright, lads."  Nicholas smiled, his cheeks rosy above his thick beard.  "I don't require music from you, or toy-making.  I just need you to ride along tonight, and keep an eye on the reindeer while I drop off presents.  Think you can manage that?"

 Atharil glanced at the shemlen's deer.  "If they're anything like halla, it shouldn't be too difficult."

 Nicholas nodded.  "I'm not sure what a 'halla' is," he said with a wink.  "But these deer fly."

  
******

  
 Wedged into the sleigh's back seat, Feyndir leaned forward to address Atharil around Nicholas' massive sack.  "I am beginning to have second thoughts about this."

 Atharil flicked the bell on his hat, and it jingled merrily.  "Really?  Only now?"

 "I did not realize he'd ask us to leave our weapons behind.  What if we're set upon by bandits?  The roads are dangerous."

 Up front, Nicholas heard him and chuckled.  "Roads?" he said.  "Where we're going, we don't need roads!"  He flicked the reins, called out to each of his reindeer by name,  and they were off.

 The deer ran in a wide circle around the ruins, gathering speed, the sleigh's runners bouncing along the ground with such force that Atharil thought they'd surely snap.  Then, suddenly, they lifted off the ground.

 The elves were thrown back against the sleigh's padded seats as the reindeer climbed into the sky.  Feyndir gripped the armrest so tightly that the knuckles of his hand turned white; with the other hand, he fought to keep the ridiculous hat on his head.  He tried to think of a prayer to offer, but couldn't decide which Creator to address.  Which one could save him from plummeting to his death from an enchanted sleigh?  At a loss, he finally yelled, "By the Dread Wolf!"

 Nicholas laughed again, and brought the sleigh around.  They were facing the ruins now, far below, and as the elves watched a light burst forth from the midst of the broken columns.

 "What is that?"  Atharil's voice cracked on the last word.

 "Some kind of mirror!"  Feyndir gazed at the glass's swirling, multi-colored surface. 

 "Ho, ho, ho!" shouted Nicholas.  "Here we go!"

 The sleigh dropped, shooting downwards like a loosed arrow as the reindeer galloped at full speed toward the mirror.  From a height, it seemed a small target, but as they hurtled toward it Atharil realized it was taller than most human houses, and wider than an aravel.  Wider than the sleigh, at any rate.

 "Oh, shit!" he shouted, suddenly realizing what was happening.  "Nicholas, pull up!"

 But the jolly shemlen merely cracked his whip over the reindeers' heads, and they pulled even faster.  The mirror loomed larger and larger, until the elves could see little beyond its crystalline surface.  They braced themselves, waiting for the impact.

 And then they were through.  There was the briefest flash of light, and suddenly the air was colder.  Stars dotted the night sky, and a single, small moon hung above them.  Feyndir pointed to it, but couldn't find words.

 Nicholas looked over his shoulder and nodded.  "I did tell you I was from a faraway land, you'll recall."  He grinned.  "If you think that's something, try looking down."

 Warily, his stomach lurching, Atharil leaned over the side of the sleigh.  Below, a thousand tiny lights twinkled up at him.

 "Cookfires?" he asked, confused.

 "Electric lights," Nicholas answered.

 Feyndir furrowed his brow.  "The mages use their powers to -"

 Nicholas guffawed.  "There are no mages here, boys.  No dragons, either.  Nor qunari, nor dwarves..." he paused for effect, "nor elves.  Present company excluded, of course."

 Atharil felt sick.  "It's just a... a whole world of shems?  Is this the Void?"

 "It's not Thedas, that's for certain."  Feyndir was as pale as the alien moon.  "Nicholas, you say there're no elves here, but what about the ones who make your toys?"

 Nicholas nodded.  "A good question.  They came from elsewhere long ago, just as you did tonight.  Only they stayed - I promise you'll be back home by sunrise, Thedas time."

 Atharil watched as dots of lights moved along the streets.  He didn't even want to ask what those were.  "And why didn't you bring your elves tonight?  Why us?"

 Nicholas sighed.  "They're all under the weather, unfortunately.  It happens fairly often this time of year, what with the stress of the holiday run-up and all.  One of them gets a sniffle, and before you know it they're all in bed with tiny red noses and sore throats."

 Feyndir blinked.  "Why are their noses tiny?"

 "Oh, they're quite a bit smaller than you two.  Same pointy ears, though.  Much less grim."

 Atharil shivered.  "They don't sound like any elves I've seen.  If they're not from Thedas, how did you find them?  How did you find us, for that matter?"

 Nicholas coughed into his fist.  "Well...," he said, considering.  "I'm afraid there are some answers that are above your pay grade, fellows.  Suffice it to say that there are other mirrors like the one we used tonight, and they go _everywhere _.  I have a... a friend in Thedas, known him a long time- " he giggled a little to himself at the thought, " -and he suggested your particular forest might be a good place to find some substitute employees."  He arched an eyebrow at Atharil.  "He also warned me I'd probably have at least one arrow in me before I got a chance to speak."__

____

____

 Atharil blushed.  "Ir abelas.  We thought you were an outlaw carrying supplies."

____

____

 Nicholas laughed.  "Imagine if you'd killed me for a sack of toys!"  Then, seeing Atharil's chagrin, "Don't worry about it, lad.  I was never in any real danger."

____

____

 He turned the sleigh again, and they began a gentle descent.  The houses grew larger, and Feyndir had to remind himself that no one here was waiting to harm him, either for being Dalish or for his limited magical abilities.  He flexed his fingers, wondering if he even retained his connection to the Fade in this place.  Was there even a Fade here with which to connect?

____

____

 The sleigh came to rest on top of a two-storey house, somehow managing to remain completely upright despite the pitch in the roof.  Nicholas hopped out, hauling the bag after him as if it weighed no more than a nug.

____

____

 "Don't go anywhere," he told the elves.  "I'll be back soon."  He then hopped onto a chimney - a remarkable feat in itself for a man his size - and disappeared down it.

____

____

 "Where would we go?" Feyndir asked no one in particular.  "I don't fancy getting lost in this place."

____

____

 Atharil shrugged, jingling the bells on his shoulders.  "Maybe that's why he wanted us wear these clothes.  I'm hardly going to wander off in this ridiculous garb."  He paused.  "Do you think his elves like wearing these clothes?"

____

____

 Feyndir picked at his tights.  "They're comfortable enough," he conceded.  "But no.  I can't imagine any elf, anywhere, wants to look like an elfroot-fueled hallucination."

____

____

  
******

____

____

  
 After that, the night seemed to simultaneously rush by, and also stretch into days.  Nicholas disappeared down countless chimneys, and when there weren't chimneys he just vanished through the roof.  He never seemed to grow tired, and he never grew the slightest bit less jolly.  The elves, meanwhile, found that they also remained unaffected by the hour or the weather, even remaining dry in places where it was raining or snowing.  Sometimes, Nicholas returned with cookies or other treats for them, and these they ate without ever really feeling hungry or full.  It was almost like a Fade dream.

____

____

 Eventually, Atharil and Feyndir grew accustomed to the routine, and felt comfortable enough to venture out of the sleigh at stops.  They got to know their charges first, stroking the reindeer's soft necks and rubbing them gently behind their ears.  They whispered to the animals in elven as they would the halla, and the deer seemed to somehow understand.  They lowered their heads and looked into the large eyes of the Dalish, and a peace passed between them that was both strange and familiar at once.

____

____

 And then, a minute or an hour later, the elves ventured farther.  They stepped to the edges of the rooftops they visited, crouching low and leaning out to look into the yards and streets below.  Much of what they saw they didn't understand, but occasionally they glimpsed a clothesline or a vegetable garden or a cat hurrying along a fence line, and it reassured them that things were not completely foreign in Nicholas's land.

____

____

  
 The night wore on, Feyndir and Atharil growing ever bolder along the way.  The sleigh passed from city to countryside and back again, the shrinking bag of toys on the seat between them the only sign of their progress. 

____

____

 "It's hard to believe any of this is real, isn't it?"  Feyndir was catching snowflakes on his tongue, his legs dangling off the edge of a silent farmhouse.  There were no neighbors for miles, but the full moon lit up the snow-covered yard like a streetlight.  A streetlight full of electricity.  Atharil shook his head at the thought.  So many of the things they'd seen that night seemed improbable.

____

____

 "Maybe it isn't," he suggested.  "Perhaps we're in the Fade, after all, and when we wake-"  A door banged shut somewhere below, and both elves froze.  They watched, unmoving, as a small figure made its way out into the yard, trudging through the fresh snow.  It wore a pink hat on its head, and a purple coat over a long nightgown and boots.  A shemlen child.   A little girl.

____

____

 She turned around slowly, snow clinging to her long brown hair.  The elves held their breath, willing her not to look up, and for a moment she didn't.  Then one of the reindeer gave its harness bells a shake, and her eyes flew to the roof.

____

____

 She gasped, and Feyndir gasped, and Atharil nearly fell off the roof.  Then she squealed, and covered her mouth with her hands, and started hopping up and down.

____

____

 "Fenedhis, now what do we do?"  Feyndir looked hopefully at the home's chimney, but there was no sign of Nicholas returning.

____

____

 Atharil considered.  "It's just one child.  I'll deal with it."  He lowered himself onto another level of the roof, closer to the ground.

____

____

 "What are you doing?" Feyndir hissed.  "Nicholas said to stay with the sleigh."

____

____

 "Then you do that."  Atharil slid off the lower level and onto the ground, straight into a drift.  The snow piled around the thin fabric of his leggings and settled into his pointed shoes, and suddenly he felt the cold.  He exhaled sharply and saw his breath for the first time that night, rising before his face.  Through it, he saw the girl watching him.

____

____

 They walked toward one another slowly, hesitantly.  Atharil studied the child's round face for signs she might attack, but found only wonder and joy reflected there.  It confused him to see such open happiness on any face, let alone that of a shemlen looking upon an elf, but what she did next surprised him even more.

____

____

 Letting out a shriek of delight, the girl broke into a run and crashed into him, wrapping her small arms around his waist and burying her face in his side.  Atharil stood still a moment, shocked, before returning her embrace.  He patted her on the back awkwardly, still not completely convinced her affection wasn't some sort of trap, before gently prying her off.

____

____

 "You're so tall," she breathed.  "What's your name?"

____

____

 "Atharil."  He knelt on one knee to look her in the eye, trying not to wince as all his bells jangled at once.  "What's yours?"

____

____

 "I'm Elizabeth.  Lizzie."  She put out a shy finger and touched his vallaslin.  "You have a tattoo on your face, Atharil."

____

____

 "I do."  He didn't elaborate; something told him the explanation was, in Nicholas' words, above Lizzie's pay grade.

____

____

 "And your nose is flat."  She squinted at him.  "I didn't know Santa's elves had funny noses and tattoos."

____

____

 Santa.  She must be talking about Nicholas, though he'd no idea why she'd call the man by another name.  "Well, how many of us have you seen?" he countered.

____

____

 "Only you."  She pointed up, where Feyndir stood watching, arms crossed.  "And him.  Did you bring my daddy with you?"

____

____

 Atharil felt a prickle of worry.  "Your father?  Why do you think your father would be with us?"

____

____

 Lizzie frowned.  "That's what I asked Santa for this year.  To bring Daddy back from Heaven.  That's why you're here, isn't it?" 

____

____

 Something was definitely wrong.  As far as Atharil understood, the man in red only brought the shemlen children toys.  He didn't carry passengers beyond his elves.  "Heaven?" he asked, confused.  "Where is that?"

____

____

 Lizzie stared at him as if he'd asked which direction was up, or whether fire was hot.  "It's where you go when you die.  Mommy says Santa can't bring people from Heaven, but I know he can."  Her brown eyes welled with tears.

____

____

 Atharil suddenly wished he'd listened to Feyndir and stayed on the roof.  The child's father had gone to the Beyond, and even Falon'Din himself couldn't bring him back.  "I'm afraid your mother is right, Lizzie," he said.  "Ir abe-  I am sorry, da'len."

____

____

 If she noticed him straying into another language, she didn't show it.  Atharil wondered briefly whether the two of them were even speaking the Common Tongue in the first place, or if it was all part of Nicholas' magic.  The tears in Lizzie's eyes overflowed and coursed down her cheeks, and the elf did his best to wipe them away with the furry white cuff of his silly-looking tunic.

____

____

 "Don't cry," he pleaded, at a loss.  "Look.  I want to show you something."  He took the Dalish toy soldier from his pocket and held it out to her.  "I lost my father, too.  He didn't die, but he... well, he went away.  But he left this for me, to remember him."

____

____

 Lizzie sniffed and picked up the tiny wooden figure, turning it around in her short fingers.  "It's an elf," she said, "with a sword."

____

____

 "It's an Emerald Knight," he told her, pay grade be damned.  "They were fierce warriors, and they protected my people from... from all danger."  He saw a flicker of a smile on her face, and continued.  "Do you know how tough they were, Lizzie?  They were so tough they kept wolves as companions, and never went anywhere without them."

____

____

 Lizzie grinned, her eyes still red.  "That's cool," she said.

____

____

 Atharil closed her hand around the little soldier.  "You keep it," he told her.  "May it bring you strength."

____

____

 "Thank you, Atharil."  She put her arms around his neck, and whispered into his pointed ear.  "Every time I look at it, I'll remember the night I met a real, live elf."

____

____

 Atharil laughed so hard he almost lost his balance.  "I'm glad to have met you, too, Lizzie," he said, struggling to get the words out.  "I came an awful long way to do it."

____

____

  
******

____

____

  
 At last, the night was over.  The sun hadn't quite risen above the horizon yet, but the sky was growing brighter, and jungle birds were beginning to call to one another in the trees.

____

____

 "Ready to head home, boys?"  Nicholas was as cheerful as ever, but Feyndir could tell he was finally getting tired.  He felt weary, too, and could see Atharil fighting to keep his eyes open.  "You two did a great job; just one more stop to go."

____

____

 Atharil eyed the flattened sack.  "There're no more gifts, Nicholas."

____

____

 "That's alright, we're just going to check in with my friend for a minute.  I want to thank him for directing me to... what are your people called again?"

____

____

 "The Dalish," Feyndir sighed.

____

____

 Nicholas snapped his fingers.  "That's it," he said.  "A hard-working and kind-hearted bunch, if you're anything to go by."

____

____

 Atharil raised an eyebrow.  "Even after everything I've seen tonight, it still surprises me to hear a human say that."

____

____

 Feyndir yawned.  "Don't get used to it," he warned.  "We're heading back to Thedas."

____

____

  
 The other side of the mirror they'd used to enter Nicholas' world was hidden in the clouds, and invisible until Nicholas activated it.  This time around, both elves were too exhausted to be frightened as the sleigh swept through it, the reindeer managing a smooth landing on the other side.

____

____

 Atharil looked around.  "This isn't where we met you."

____

____

 Nicholas hopped down from the sleigh.  "This isn't anywhere, really," he laughed.  "But it's the safest place for my friend to meet us, so here we are."

____

____

 "It's beautiful."  Feyndir stepped down and began exploring.  "All the colors, the trees in bloom, and the air...."  He took a deep breath.  "I feel like I could run for miles."

____

____

 "Really?"  Nicholas took off his red hat and scratched his head.  "It looks dull and kind of... fuzzy to me."

____

____

 Atharil joined his clansman.  "This place is elven," he said, examining a sculpture.  "This is Mythal."

____

____

 "You brought them with you?"   The voice was tight, angry but controlled.  An elf stepped out of the nearby shadows, a staff in one hand.  He first frowned at Nicholas, then glared at Atharil.  "Don't touch that."

____

____

 Atharil pulled his hand away from the statue as if he'd been burnt.  "Ir abelas," he told the mage, not certain why he was deferring to him.  The man wore no vallaslin; obviously, he wasn't Dalish.  A city elf.  "This is your friend?" he asked Nicholas.

____

____

 "It is."  Nicholas turned to the man.  "I'm sorry if I upset you.  I only wanted to offer my thanks, and to introduce you to the boys who helped me this evening."

____

____

 The eyes of the mysterious elf slid over Atharil and Feyndir, measuring them.  "I have met enough Dalish," he said finally, arching an eyebrow.  "I hope they were able to follow simple directions?"

____

____

 "For the most part."  Nicholas' eyes sparkled.  "They're good lads, and I'm grateful to them."

____

____

 The mage looked at the elves again, and this time his gaze softened.  "What are they wearing?"

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 "Standard Christmas-elf uniforms."  Nicholas grinned, and the stranger shook his bald head.

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 "They look ridiculous."  A smirk played at the corner of his mouth.

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 "You look different yourself."

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 The elf shrugged, glancing down at his simple attire.  "The times call for discretion, sadly."

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 Nicholas sighed.  "Things never get any easier for you, do they?"

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 The smirk returned.  "Perhaps we could exchange roles for a while.  I'll give presents to children, and you can -" he threw another sidelong glance at Atharil and Feyndir, "you can fill my shoes."

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 "Figuratively speaking, I assume?"  Nicholas laughed at his own joke and, after a moment's hesitation, his friend joined in with a soft chuckle.

____

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 "Of course."  He straightened then, and addressed the two Dalish.  "Thank you for assisting Nicholas tonight.  I admit, I had some doubts that he would find any of your people willing to make the trip, but I am pleased to have been mistaken."

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 "Our people."  Feyndir corrected.  "We're all elves."

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 "Ah."  The mage fixed him with a thoughtful look.  "I meant the Dalish, of course."

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 "Were you part of a Circle, then?"  Atharil was studying the jawbone necklace around the man's neck.  "I'm curious how you came to find this place."

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 Annoyance flickered across the mage's face.  "Nicholas," he said, speaking past the other elves once more, "it was good to see you again, but I must return before I am missed.  Will you show our acquaintances back to their forest?"  He frowned at Atharil.  "I'm sure they have trees to plant and tents to pitch."  
 

____

____

******

____

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 "Creators!"  They were finally back where their adventure had begun, standing in an elven ruin in the middle of the Emerald Graves.  "No offense, Nicholas, but your flat-ear friend is an ass."

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 The old man patted Atharil's shoulder.  "He always has a lot on his mind, that one.  Don't take it personally."  He leaned in.  "You know, he tried to kill me the first time we met.  Once he realized he couldn't, though, we got along just fine.  Sound familiar?"

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 Feyndir smirked.  "You heard him, lethallin.  You and what's-his-name are practically brothers." 

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 Atharil ignored his teasing.  "What was his name, anyway?"

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 Nicholas was already climbing back into his sleigh.  "I'm not sure what he's calling himself nowadays, to be honest."  He settled back onto his seat and picked up the reins, surveying his team.  "I have to say, the reindeer have never been as calm on a delivery run as they were tonight - you two seem to know deer the way my elves know toys.  Ma serannas for all your help."

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 Feyndir nodded.  "Ma nuvenin, hahren.  May Ghilan'nain watch over them now, and guide your sleigh safely home."

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 "And may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent," Atharil added.  "Dareth shiral, Nicholas."

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 The old man gave him a wink, and cracked his whip, and the two elves watched as the sleigh lifted off once more.  It circled around them, high in the air, and the great mirror crackled as it again burst into light.  Then the reindeer charged downward, racing toward it, and they heard Nicholas shout as he passed by.

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 "Happy Christmas to the Dalish, and to Thedas a good night!" 

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 Then he was gone, the mirror snapping shut behind him.  The elves were silent a moment, staring into its dark surface.

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 "Well...shit."  Feyndir said finally, looking down.  "We're still wearing his uniforms."

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 "Fenedhis."  Atharil bent to retrieve his bow, bells jingling.  "We're never going to hear the end of this."

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points if you caught the rather obvious "Back to the Future" reference.  
> Super bonus points if you caught the less-obvious "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" reference.
> 
> Happy Holidays!


End file.
